Swing, Swing, Swing
by Luthien Potter
Summary: Harry Potter. Draco malfoy. A swingset. Need I say more? Rated for a kiss, nothing more. One shot


Wow.  
  
This story is so strange, in the fact that it took me more than a month to write, in my school notebook, during intervals in my more boring classes – i.e., Human resources and Arts Management. Honestly, I began writing it about mid January, I think. At least, I know that's when I got the idea for it. I was watching kids I babysit for on the swingset, thinking how carefree they were, and how I never got the same feeling anyplace else that I used to get on my swingset as a kid.  
  
And the story was born.  
  
I intended for this to be really slashy, R rating, the works. But Harry and Draco must be tired of going at it like bunnies, because they simply would not let me take the story there. This ended up really actually pretty sweet. Fluff, really. Intelligent fluff, but fluff nonetheless.  
  
At some points it didn't want to be written, but here it is. Finished. Wow. Now maybe I can move on to other things. . .like Alternate Universes or Cats Are Mysterious Creatures, both of which have been blocked by humongous writers block for months. Whew.  
  
Okay, then, standard disclaimer: They belong to JKR. If they didn't, Harry would have gotten with Draco instead of Cho in the last book, Hermione and Ron would have kissed already, Albus and Mierva would have scads of little grandchild Albuses and Minervas running around, and Severus would have shown up in leather pants with clean hair by now by now. . .  
  
Heh, and with that image in mind (oh, Alan Rickman in leather. . .::melts:: ) Go read my story!!  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~  
  
Harry was frustrated with life in general. He knew that if he wanted to be able to beat this frustration, he needed a way out of the routine of sleeping, eating, and schoolwork. He thought hard for a few days. What could he do to release this tension? What could he do? It had to be something disassociated with the wizarding world. The wizarding world was what Harry was frustrated with! That ruled out flying. . .reminded him too much of coming into this world. Then suddenly, out of the blue, Harry hit on a memory of something he used to do whenever he could get away from Dudley beating him up on the primary school playground. Something that always gave him the same sensation of flying, that let him feel free.  
  
This is what he needed. Something to give him that feeling again.  
  
Harry needed a swingset.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It was a few days later that Harry felt comfortable with the spell he had been researching. He had never conjured anything this big before; he was a sixth year and major conjuring wasn't taught until seventh. But Harry needed this. He didn't even care that he would need to use magic to get his nonmagical escape, that kink in logic never even entered his mind. He had always felt free as a child on a swing set, and he needed to recapture that freedom, that feeling of being unencumbered by life. Even if it was for a few minutes.  
  
And so a conjuring spell it was.  
  
'Behind the Slytherin Quidditch stands. . .' Harry thought. 'Best place if I don't want to be caught. Opposite side of the pitch from the school. If I'm quiet, no one should notice!' And so it was that midnight found Harry Potter, Golden Boy of Gryffindor and potential saviour of the wizarding world, under his invisibility cloak sneaking out behind the Slytherin stands to conjure a swingset.  
  
When he reached his desired destination, Harry divested himself of his cloak, glanced around surreptitiously, and pulled out his wand (no, not /that/ wand, you sick minded person, you!). Though he was reasonably sure that there was no other person about, Harry couldn't help but feel that someone was watching him. Shaking his head, Harry pointed his wand (ahem! Thoughts back on story, please!) at the chosen patch of ground, and chanted firmly "(insert neato spell here)". Harry knew that the spell was supposed to work, but was still slightly surprised when a blue swingset – complete with two single swings, one double lounge swing and a sliding board – appeared. Looking around furtively one last time, Harry ran to one of the single swings and began pumping his legs. A huge grin spread across his face as all of Harry's problems fell away. He knew that as soon as he banished the set the problems would return, but for now, they were whisked away by the breeze that ruffled his hair and flared his robes behind him.  
  
Little did he know that this wasn't to last long. For indeed, he /had/ been watched. By a pair of swirling silver eyes, whose owner had just decided that this was the perfect time to go after what they had wanted for a long, long time. . .  
  
It took a moment for Harry, in his state of childlike excitement over the refreshing breeze from the swing, to notice the figure that had stepped out from under the Slytherin's bleachers. It was a tall, blonde figure.  
  
Draco Malfoy. . .  
  
As Harry's brain processed this information, he slowed his swinging. 'Damn,' he thought to himself, 'Not even ten minutes. Bloody hell, why is he coming over here?' Harry determined not to say anything, but to let Malfoy take the initiative. Malfoy was slowly walking towards Harry and his swing, and stopped just short of arms reach to the empty single. Harry was shocked when what issued from Malfoy's mouth wasn't a taunt, but a question.  
  
"Mind if I join you?"  
  
Harry's mouth dropped open. This was beyond surreal. Almost five years of hell from the bastard, and now Malfoy wanted to share his swingset! No! Absolutely not! Unthinkable!  
  
"Okay," was what came out.  
  
Malfoy smiled. Didn't sneer – smiled! – as he reached out and grabbed to empty swing. Gingerly, as if testing his weight on the seat, he sat and gave the swing a few exploratory small pushes.  
  
Harry was baffled. Malfoy was swinging on a swingset. Which he, Harry, had conjured behind the Slytherin Quidditch stands. He shook his head, not quite able to comprehend the fact that Malfoy hadn't yet said or done something nasty.  
  
Catching the movement, Malfoy looked over. "What?" he asked, seeing the disbelief on Harry's face.  
  
"Well, it's just that. . ." Harry began.  
  
"Yes?" Malfoy prompted.  
  
"You're here, I'm here, we're alone for two or three minutes now, and there's been no bloodshed," Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment.  
  
"You're right, that is strange," he said. "Then again, if you would rather fight, I'm sure I can come up with an appropriate insult on short notice."  
  
Harry shook his head. "Nah. I really just don't feel like wasting any energy on a fight at the moment."  
  
"Good," Malfoy said with a nod, "Me neither."  
  
For a few more minutes, Harry and Malfoy just sat there. Suddenly, Harry spoke up. "Hey, Malfoy–"  
  
"Don't call me that," the other boy cut in automatically.  
  
"Hunh?" was all Harry could manage in confusion.  
  
"Don't call me Malfoy. You know, I may have threatened you last year, but I have to admit you did me a favor when you dumped my father in Azkaban. Without his voice in my ears, I had to learn things on my own, make my own decisions." Draco changed his focus from straight ahead to look straight into Harry's eyes. "I chose to leave behind my surname."  
  
"Oh," Harry commented intelligently. "Wow."  
  
"Anyway, now that that's out of the way, what were you going to say?" Draco asked, cocking his head slightly.  
  
"Um. . .I think just if you wanted to have a swinging contest."  
  
"Hunh?" Now it was Draco's turn to be confused. "How do you have one of those?"  
  
"We start swinging at the same time, and see who can get higher, faster."  
  
"If we're both swinging, who determines a winner?"  
  
"I don't think there is a winner."  
  
"Then why is it called a contest?"  
  
"I haven't the foggiest notion."  
  
Draco looked like he wanted to ask another question, paused, then simply said "Okay."  
  
Harry Smiled widely. "Cool." The boys pushed back, and made sure they were even.  
  
"Ready. . ." Harry prompted.  
  
"Set. . ." Draco intoned.  
  
"GO!" They both shouted as they did so.  
  
For the next several moments, exactly how many neither boy knew, they simply swung, taking a pleasure in the wind on their faces and the back and forth motion of the swing. Suddenly, Draco heard Harry shout "Wanna jump?"  
  
"JUMP?" Draco exclaimed. He was going pretty high, jumping didn't seen like a great idea.  
  
"Yeah, jump," said Harry, who was going just as high. "Like this!" Harry gave himself another couple of swings, and then just before he reached the height of a forward swing he let go the chains and let his momentum carry him forward. He landed on his feet, but fell forward to his hands and knees. Flipping over, he looked to Draco, who was still swinging. "C'mon!"  
  
Screwing up his courage, Draco copied Harry's movement. He flew through the air and landed, breathless, beside Harry, on his hands and knees. Flipping over and laying on his back, all he could say was "Wow."  
  
"Yup," Harry replied. Draco grinned and jumped up, excited.  
  
"Again?" He asked, extending a hand to Harry. Harry looked up at Draco, scrutinizing the hand and the grin, which never wavered.  
  
'Wow,' thought Harry. 'For a bastard, he's really cute. . .' Harry broke into his own grin, he took Draco's hand. Draco hauled him to his feet, and they got back in the swingset.  
  
Again and again, Harry and Draco swung and leapt, leapt and swung. Eventuall, in between jumping off the swing and getting back on the swing, they began to talk, neither being offended at blunt questions, and both answering honestly. A catharsis of sorts, started by the swingset, and both boys were purging their souls to the other.  
  
Harry soon learned that Draco had respected and idolized his father out of fear. Draco had always thought that when he got out of Hogwarts, he would join the Death Eaters, even if he would rather not. His father would likely beat him to death otherwise. But now, Draco was free to contemplate life apart from his father and Voldemort.  
  
Draco learned that Harry hated attention. He didn't want fanmail, or photos, or interviews. He hated the fact that the world knew more about him than he did himself. Harry told Draco about growing up in the cupboard under the stairs, about being beat up by other kids, and about the confrontation with Voldemort in the graveyard at the end of fourth year.  
  
It was hours later when both boys were talked dry. They were so much more alike than they ever knew, in their loneliness, their desperation, and their driving need to prove themselves to someone.  
  
The sky was growing light in the east. It was a very lucky thing for both boys that this was a Friday night – they'd be sleeping away Saturday. Harry and Draco picked themselves up off the ground, and Harry sadly banished the swingset. Draco sighed, looking at where it had been.  
  
"We can do this again, right. . .Harry?" Draco asked, haltingly calling Harry by his given name.  
  
"Sure. . .Draco." Harry smiled at Draco. Draco looked stunned for a moment, then blushed and looked away. Not quite sure why, Harry did the same.  
  
"Um, there's on more thing I didn't tell you. . ." Draco admitted.  
  
"Yeah. . .me, too. . ." Harry replied. "You first."  
  
"Oh. Yes. Right. Well, um, you see. . ." Draco stammered.  
  
Harry was only slightly amused at the sight of the great Draco Malfoy's loss of speech, and said "Well, spit it out." Draco made a sour face, saying,  
  
"Oh, bugger this."  
  
At which point, he reached forward, grabbed Harry's shoulders, and kissed him.  
  
It was like no kiss he's ever experienced. There were all the clichéd fireworks, ringing, and fire. Harry didn't pull away, which surprised Draco, and he moved to deepen the kiss.  
  
Harry was somewhat shocked, but mostly pleased. This certainly made his admission for Draco a lot easier. He felt Draco move to deepen the kiss, and complied.  
  
After a while, it became imperative for the boys to breathe. They separated with one final, small kiss, and stared at each other yet Draco kept his arms around Harry's shoulders, as Harry did not move his hands from Draco's hips.  
  
"Wow," Said Draco.  
  
"Yeah," replied Harry.  
  
"So, what does this make us?" asked Draco.  
  
"Ummm. . .I'd like to think boyfriends?" answered Harry.  
  
"Me, too. . ."  
  
"So – other than the visits during the week that I hope we are to have – back here, same place, same time, next Friday night?" Harry asked. Draco grinned.  
  
"Of course."  
  
When the boys parted for the night, they both wore considerably lighter loads on their shoulders. It would be moths before they finally decided to tell anyone about their relationship – some took it well, others took a while to come around. But everyone had to agree that they had never seen Harry and Draco quite so happy as when they were together.  
  
It was in Harry and Draco's seventh year that the final confrontation with Voldemort finally happened. Just before Harry left to fight, Draco made him promise to come home.  
  
Harry promised.  
  
It was fully a week or more before anyone saw Harry again. Everyone presumed him dead – after all, the confrontation with Voldemort had been over in a night. But as no body was found at the battle sight, Draco never believed that his love could be dead.  
  
The day that Harry Potter walked through the gates of Hogwarts, suffering from wounds still raw from battle, it was Draco Malfoy who found it. It was Draco who nursed him.  
  
And it was Draco who married him, just after graduation, in a ceremony in the Great Hall. Never to be parted from his love again, until they grew old and died, the same night, in each other's arms.  
  
And it all started on a swingset. 


End file.
